


Pluck a cornflower for my love

by captain_emmajones



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Smut, be weary of the angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-18
Updated: 2016-07-18
Packaged: 2018-07-24 20:36:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7522240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captain_emmajones/pseuds/captain_emmajones
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>CS AU week, day 4: Lieutenant Duckling. </p><p>Due to the Evil Queen’s curse, Princess Emma's memory spam is of 24 hours: she forgets everything when the clock strikes midnight. Her weary parents decide to entrust her with Lieutenant Jones for three years, just enough for them to raise their last born child. It’s a story of cornflowers and colorful papers. Inspired by Anterograde Tomorrow by Changdictator.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pluck a cornflower for my love

“Lieutenant Jones.” The king of Misthaven’s relieved voice fills the castle. 

Kneeling in front of their majesties, Killian’s head is lowered. 

“You must know, lieutenant, how glad we are that your brother and yourself have decided to guarantee their loyalty to us,” exclaims Snow White, and he surmises the green of her eyes without looking up. 

“It is, your highness, an honor to serve a kingdome as remarkable as yours,” he simply answers. 

A pause, him counting the lines of the parquet floor under his feet, to ease his discomfort, sooth an anguished heart. Despite everything, King James’s betrayal is still fresh in his mind. He’s very well aware of the fact if it wasn’t for Liam, things would have gone differently. 

“Killian, we need you to give us a favor.” 

The use of his first name causes his heart to skip a beat, blue eyes flashing in the dim light of a late afternoon. 

Three years under their command, and never such familiarities. 

Against all odds, he nods, his weary gaze on the Queen’s face. 

She seems exhausted, as if an immeasurable weight strangles her entire being; emerald eyes circled by purple, pale skin, almost grey.

“It’s-” her voice breaks, and he distingues the King’s gesture; how his hand finds hers on their throne of glass, “It’s our daughter,” a pause, the words sinking in, not making more sense, “Regina cursed her.” 

“We need someone to watch over her, as it has made her more vulnerable than ever,” continues the King, “Three years, and in exchange you will be sent to a secluded island where you will be treated as a king yourself.” 

“You must understand Lieutenant, that such mission causes our kingdome to be even more vulnerable. Which is why, once over, you must go.” 

.

It’s a funny thing, life. 

Seems to give you everything to be happy and take it away, all at once. 

“I don’t know if I can do this, Liam.” 

His voice, in the murk of their bedroom, one the royals had offered to them in exchange of their loyalty to their Navy, timid rays of a dying sun flittering through the shutters. 

“I don’t know if I can watch her rise every morning just to be swallowed by darkness.” 

A pause, his frustration. “What kind of life is that?” 

“Killian,” Liam’s curt tone addressed him, “it would be an honor to assume such a quest.” 

He sighs. His brother doesn’t understand. 

“You’re right.” 

Still, his hands shake on the blue blankets. 

.

Eventually, he accepts.

“It would be an honor, your highnesses, to fulfill such journey.” 

The sigh of relief in their faces, him knowing he did the right thing. 

.

He meets her on a Sunday afternoon. 

“We will be right here if you need us,” inform Snow White and Prince Charming as they open the door to the royal princess’s chamber. 

There’s a soft smile on their features, an encouraging one, but their eyes are screaming. 

He swallows down as he watches the door close itself, his heart pounding in his chest. 

What if you’re not strong enough for this?

Slowly, he shifts, his legs rigid and heavy, and discovers the room. 

It’s beautiful, of a timid and candide beauty: the walls are lavender, a million of little piece of papers decorating them. They are colorful, from the most endearing yellow to the brightest red. On them, a delicate handwriting. 

Inhaling deeply, he humes vanilla, apples, and flowers. He smiles.

In the center of the room, as only furniture, a large bed; the magenta sheets are dancing with the azure blanket in a lovely embrace. 

“Hello,” greets him a voice from behind, and he flinches, taken off guard. 

His startled gaze falls on the mischief of a wrinkled nose where freckles are dusted, and the brightness of the very same emerald eyes. And those eyes, god, circled by long and thick eyelashes, highlighted by the cream of her skin. Her features are surrounded by a golden braid, and youth spread her rose lips in an alarming smile. 

“My name is Emma,” the lass quickly introduces herself. “I’m the Princess of Misthaven.” 

A slight curtsey before she hops up and down on her bare feet underneath her green dress. 

“I, um,” the horror strangles him when he realizes he did not bow in front of this sun, “please forgive my impoliteness, your highness, for I was struck by the beauty of your smile.” 

She chuckles. “So, are you the lieutenant who’s going to take care of me?”

An horrendous smile on her features, horrendous only by its effect on his heart race. 

“Aye, your highness. I shall make my presence as likeable as possible by your side.” 

.

He spends little time by her side that day. She introduces him to her humble demeure and he watches as she writes down informations about him on one of her colorful papers. 

How she notes down his name, Killian Jones; age, 21; and a brief description of his appearance, blue eyes, dark hair, reddish scruff under the sunlight; I must confess your highness, that I’m quite offended by your judgement towards my facial hairs, and her laughter. 

It breaks his heart, her bravery. How she faces life with her hands fisted and her kindness as her armor.

She’s lightness and nimbleness and broken. 

Cursed. 

That day, she doesn’t let him see the truth, she acts remarkably well, is the freshness of a morning dew among middlemist flowers. 

.

“So, how was it?” Her parents are quick to jump at his throat once he shuts the door behind him.

His smile, as his heart moans. “A delight. I’m sure the princess and I will have a wonderful journey.” 

Snow White gives her husband a weary look. “We’re glad, lieutenant, for it seems our choice was of good measure.” 

They don’t tell him to be careful. He hears it anyway. 

.

“Can you imagine, Liam,” he asks him over dinner, “how exhausting it must be? To wake up and to have to learn everything all over again, just for it to be gone the morning after.” 

An accusative stare answers him. “Do not get too attached to this girl, Killian.” 

.

His day starts at 8am and ends as soon as her eyelids shut. 

He always knocks on the door once, lets five minutes pass, just enough for her to recompose herself and get into her character, knocks once more, and hears her voice, “Good morning, lieutenant!” 

The very first few days are graced by her immortal smile and love for life. She’s so carefree, careless; it’s a lie. 

One he accepts for her well-being. Who is he to judge her? 

He asks her sometimes, if there is any cure, if it’s forever. 

That’s when the mask cracks in a disgusting sound. “It’s not that bad of a life, lieutenant.” 

Her eyes then, begging him to smile and say yes, the fright sparkles in the leaves of her forest. 

He doesn’t push. 

.

“Your highness,” his request, at 1am, when he catches her eyes in the corridor to the princess tower, “could I, maybe, take the princess for a ride tomorrow?” 

The astonishment on the Queen’s face. “What’s the purpose? She’ll forget it all anyway.” 

.

He’s furious. 

“She’s living a life she won’t remember when the sun rises and they don’t even allow her to have something worth making on her damn papers!” 

His whole body is shaking, because this is bloody unfair, she doesn’t deserve any of this, she would be loved and cherished, not this neverending death among the living. 

“Killian, there’s nothing you can do.” 

.

He takes her with him anyway. 

It’s a sight for sore eyes, her mesmerized look as she eyes his horse. 

“His name is Rupert,” he tells her, one hand on the collar of the animal and the other around her wrist. 

“I’ve never seen anything as magnificent,” her breathy tone causes his throat to be tight.

Come on Killian, get a grip over yourself. 

One breath, and he’s sitting on the brave animal. 

“Now princess, give me your hand.” 

Her solar smile as her thin fingers find his, the spark of electricity as her clumsy body hold onto his, her giggle in the crook of his neck. 

His pause, as he’s overwhelmed by the scent of hers, her blonde curls tickling his nose. 

Her turning her face ever so slightly, to dart as his eyes through her long eyelashes. “Thank you, lieutenant.” 

His heart skips a beat. “Call me Killian, love.” 

.

He guides her to a market, the biggest one in Misthaven. Her genuine amazement makes it all so worth it. The display are breathtaking, colors, scents, everything is beautiful. 

So is she. 

“Killian,” her grip on his hand as she points at bouquets of corn flowers, “promise me you’ll remind me to write it down, tonight.” 

.

He buys her the largest and most vibrant one. The sparkles in her eyes, as he hands it to her once they are back in the castle. 

“For you’ll have a very real memory of our day,” he tells her reverently. 

She’s bewitched. 

She doesn’t let him see her tears, instead buries her face in the crook of his neck. 

.

The punch of the King in his nose is the first thing he feels as he gets out of her room. 

“Are you insane? Endangering the princess like that?” His breath against his face as he throws him against the nearest wall, “what exactly do you think you’re doing, Jones?” 

He clenches his jaw. “Creating her good memories,” he spits and his rage is palpable, “for she might not remember them, but at least when she sees those damn papers of hers, she can wish she would.” 

There’s a moment, as the King defies the lieutenant, and he doesn’t look down. 

And then, slowly, him unclasping his fingers over his coat’s lapel. “Goodnight, lieutenant.” 

“To you to, your highness.” 

. 

There’s this morning, where she doesn’t answer his second knock. 

Panic rises in his mind, strangles his throat. “Love, wake up, it’s Killian.”

He finds her sitting on the floor, her papers mixed together, dishevelled hair and tears abandoning red marks on her face. She’s still in her nightgown, and her whole body is shaking as she tries to put down the colors together. 

It kills him. 

“Oh, Emma, my love,” his whisper as he kneels in front of her.

Watches as she doesn’t recognize him, stands back to avoid his embrace. 

His fury, also, as he hastily searches through the mess on the floor and hands to her his paper. 

“Killian,” the brokenness of her voice, “I tried to put it back together but it fell down and now, now I’m lost and I-”

She’s cut by a sob, something terrible, coming from deep inside, the sob of a child lost in a neverending forest. He wraps his arms around her, chin leaning against her forehead, cradles her as she cries her despair away, for she is cursed and there is no cure. 

A heady melancolia haunts him, causes his temples to hurt. 

.

“True love’s kiss,” she explains later that night, lying on her bed while he sits carefully on the side. 

He stays as far as he can and as near as allowed. 

“It’s the only cure, but-”

A pause. She plays with her fingers, uneasy. 

“- he left.” 

It shatters him. 

“I know,” she starts again, avoiding his gaze, “because it’s the only paper I keep under my pillow.” A smile on her young features, or nothing like it, “so that every morning, I chase hope away.” 

He frowns, reaches for her trembling fingers. “That’s a terrible thing to do, love.” 

Her gaze, as she bites her lower lips, the most sincere one since they met. “It’s just the truth, Killian.” 

.

And so it goes. 

A year at her side, his inevitable feelings growing. It’s the easiest part, falling in love with her. 

She hides his paper now, she changes. Grows up. 

He doesn’t know quite how. She’s a mystery of lace and charms, her power hidden in small colorful papers. 

“What will you do when your walls won’t have enough room for them anymore?” he asks as at 11pm over a candlelit. 

The sensual shadows over her face, how her gaze is darkened. 

“I’ll stick them to you.” 

A lump in his throat. “But I won’t be there forever, love.” 

The frown in her features, the very childlike anger. 

“You’ll take me with you when you leave.” 

He doesn’t answer, doesn’t promise her the impossible. 

.

“You signed for 3 years, Killian. It was in the conditions.” 

Liam’s words are knife into his heart and a bucket of cold water over him.

“I know.” 

“And you still decided to fall in love with her? You’re a fool, brother.” 

It’s the first time his fist meets his brother’s face. 

.

Time flies. 

The princess’s intention become more clear, as their hands brush and she presses a kiss at the edge of his mouth, and he can’t bring himself to stop her. 

He should. Yet he doesn’t. 

.

She offers him a present on his birthday. 

“You remembered my birthday?” 

Her chuckle, as she hands him a leather bag. “You say it like it’s amazing.” 

She looks absolutely radiant, in her new dress hugging her slim body perfectly. He doesn’t miss how much bigger her cleavage is, that night. 

How she’s fluttering eyelashes and bitten lips, and feather touches of his skin. 

“Dance with me, lieutenant.” 

That too, he shouldn’t have. 

He does anyway. Wraps his arms reverently around her waist, while she buries her face in his shoulder, breathes him in deeply, and his touch is tender over her curves. 

“Killian?” 

“Hm?” 

His stolen breath as she stares at him, heart at the very edges of his eyes. 

“I’m going to kiss you.” 

He swallows down. “Anything for you, your highness.” 

Her smile under the ceiling light, how her hand hurtles down his back and finds his cheek, soft caress. She presses lightly her mouth against his, and electricity washes over them. 

He tries. To control himself, to back away. 

Kisses her instead harder, his tongue discovering her mouth in a loving ballet, hands everywhere on her skin; cheeks, neck, birth of her breast, the line he traces there. 

His lips follow the same path while she unties her corset, abandons it on the floor in a muffled sound. He stares, astonished, at her chest. Bends down to devour her skin, suck at her nipples and make her moan his name. 

It’s messy, clumsy, enamored. 

He lifts her then, lets her press her wet core against his erection, and delicately drops her off on her bed. He’s quick to follow, making his way between her thighs. 

“You are so beautiful,” a whisper, as her hair frame a halo around her. 

Her skin, so pale, and the pinkness of her mouth, nipples he guesses beneath the thin fabric. The depth of her gaze. 

“I know,” a smile, and her fingers unbutton his coat.

He lets her, gives her that, pulls up slightly her gown to tease her where she wants him. There’s her slight gasp as he traces lazy circles over her clit, hand hidden beneath the fabric. 

She’s quick, to undress him, toss his white shirt on the floor, thumbs on the opening of his trouser. 

He watches, mouth slightly open, one finger sliding in her, discovers her wet, as she unties each knot. Slowly, slowly, until the base of his cock appears and she bites sinfully her mouth. His erection freed, she takes possession of it, her touch gentle, unknowing. 

Is very careful when she brushes her fingers over his skin, watches as his eyes flutter, waves of pleasure washing over him. 

“You like that?” she asks him, and the sound of her voice surprises him. 

Hoarse. Darkened by desire. 

He nods, bends down to kiss her, deeply, amorously. 

“I like everything about you,” he assures her as he tosses her dress on the floor.

Marks her body with his teeth and tongue, spreads her legs to thrust into her. His movements are tender, lengthy. 

.

As he rests in her bed, her naked body resumes its way to her nightstand. He watches her reveal a book. 

His heart skips a beat. 

His name is written over it, black amidst the plainest white. (They bought it together, he remembers now.) 

It hurts. 

.

“Your highness, a concession, for I have been-”

“Lieutenant Jones, when you agreed for this quest, you knew the close of the contracts,” calmly states the King. 

His blood is boiling as he stands there, knees down. 

“You had to take care of our daughter until her brother hits his third year. I can now ensure of her well-being.” Snow White tone accepts no answers. 

Doesn’t keep him from trying.

“But, your majesty, I-”

“Enough, lieutenant. We have been as kind to you as you have been to your daughter.” A pause, tears slaughtering his eyes, “Be kind enough to leave her in peace now.” 

.

It’s a funny thing, love. 

Theirs, particularly, holds itself in a book. Pieces of paper. 

.

During one night, he asks her, he asks her why their kiss didn’t break the curse. 

“Can you share true love with someone you forget at midnight?” 

His mouth, on her forehead, hot cloud, as a tear rolls down his cheek. “I guess not, my love.” 

.

He comes upon her attempting at staying awake many nights. She sings to herself, fingers in his tousled hair. 

“I’d a pluck a fair rose for my love, I’d a pluck a red rose blowin’. Love’s in my heart, I’m trying so to prove what your heart’s knowing. I’d a pluck a finger on a thorn, I’d a pluck a finger bleeding. Red is my heart, wounded and forlorn and your heart needing. I’d a hold a finger to my tongue, I’d a hold a finger waiting. My heart is sore, until it joins in song with your heart mating...” 

He cries when she stops.

A few minutes, to read that damn book, before her thumbs find his skin again and a content sigh tickles his back. 

.

“Emma,” her beautiful face turning towards him as he calls her, “talk, my love.” 

He’s been torn apart all month, knowing it to be the last. Torn between saving her heartache and telling her the truth. 

Eventually, he knows where his duty lies. 

Giving up on the corn flowers bouquet, she comes to sit next to him, her movement incredibly light. 

The smile she offers him shatters him. He grins back. 

“I must ask you a favor, my love.” 

There’s a change in her expression, as if she can feel what’s about to come. 

“Anything, Killian,” she eventually assures, her hand grabbing his. 

He licks his lips, draws pattern over her wrist. 

“Our book. I need you to give it to me.” 

Her brows framing a deep shadow over her eyes. She understands. 

“But, Killian, my memories…” 

His fingers against her mouth. “Look, my love, I promise you I will find you again.” A pause, the tears he guesses on his face reflecting on hers, “And I’ll give it to you.” 

A kiss over her knuckles. “Give me time.” 

.

And so he goes, her memories tucked under his arm. 

It hadn’t been beautiful, their goodbye. 

He has no idea who was clenching to the other the harder. 

As he hurtles down the stairs of the castle, he can still hear her “I love you”, can still feel the tightness of her fingers around his coat. 

She said “I love you”, she meant “please don’t leave me.” 

. 

It’s easier, to leave knowing she won’t remember him. That his absence will leave no ache in her chest, no ghost of his body on the mattress of her bed. 

He goes on with both of their memories.

.

It’s a funny thing, life. 

Seems to take away all of your happiness and give it back, all at once. 

.

“...and then, my little love, you were born. And that’s how the princess broke the curse; for you were born of true love, and a kiss on your forehead was the cure.” 

She’s breathtaking; hair tied in a long braid, this very newly found serenity on her face, her hand around a much chubby one, her elegant body sitting on the bed of their child. 

“And what happened next mom?” asks the tiny voice. 

“Then,” he interrupts, leaving the frame of the door to enter the lavender chamber, “then she told me and I rushed up on my white horse and we got married.” 

Her smile, as she shifts towards him. 

He’s not quite used to it, her gaze, now that she remembers loving him and doesn’t read it in a book anymore. The utter adoration. 

He resumes his way towards the bed of his daughter, watches as her nose wrinkles and her smile lights up; she looks so much like her. He presses a kiss over her forehead, “Goodnight Leia,” but his little love is already asleep, heavy eyelids shut. 

. 

His whisper, later that night, as he sees her read in their bed. 

“You kept the book?” 

She grins. 

“I assure you, there are some pearls of literature in there."


End file.
